


waiting hearts

by clairedreems



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: M/M, american independence war or smn idk what u call it, anyway mom sally, bc thats what wilbur based the war right, but like hamilton era, mental image is like, mention of wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairedreems/pseuds/clairedreems
Summary: sally doesn't want her son to follow the pied piper's tune.
Relationships: Fundy & Sally
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	waiting hearts

she’s panicking.

the canons are heard all throughout the town, and every time the land shakes by the force of it all.

all day the women have been rolling bandages and preparing food, hoping that by the end of it all, there are men still left alive to use and eat them.

for the whole day, that was what she’s been doing, that she forgot to question where her son might have been. it’s almost sunset when she realizes, and she’s looking around for him, calling his name. scared, terrified, that he’s run off.

 _i want to be like dad!_ his voice still echoes in her mind. the war has already taken her husband, it doesn’t need to take her son too. but fundy is his father’s son, and she knows he also feels the thrum of battle in his veins.

thankfully, she finds him sneaking in from the backyard, all dirty and in a disarray but with shining eyes and a wide smile.

“where have you been?” she asks him, despite knowing what the answer will be. she wipes the dust of his cheeks with her apron.

“i saw it, mom” her son speaks as if he can’t hear her. “i saw dead people. all bleeding and ripped apart, it’s difficult to tell whose side is on who. they’re all the same out there. they all bleed the same.”

“oh, fundy,” sally holds her son close. she smells it on him. sweat and battle and gunpowder and blood, and something she can’t quite put a word on.

the hug might have steadied the small boy’s nerves a bit, because she notices he relaxes into it. “mom, do you think dad’s…?”

“no,” she tells him firmly, as she releases the boy and puts both her hands on his shoulders. “your dad isn’t. he can’t be.”

he can’t be, because she still hasn’t thrown that porcelain heirloom her family has on his head for merely shrugging her off when she’d begged and pleaded not to leave his family alone.

“now go up there and wash yourself. i want you clean for dinner, alright?”

the boy nods.

 _death_ , she decides as she watches her son run towards the house. _her son came backing smelling like death_.


End file.
